Connections
by Leks Bronks
Summary: For Desmond, some dreams can reveal more than the most extensive Animus sessions.
1. Chapter 1

_*Begin A/N*_

_This story is currently on indefinite hiatus until I have the time to finish it. At the very least, you can enjoy what I've done so far. Sorry :(_

_*End A/N*_

* * *

_I can hear a heartbeat._

"'Becca... keep an eye on that thing, please."

_All of my gates save for my ears are sealed shut for the moment. I lie in darkness, fading in and out of a dream I cannot seem to fully awaken from._

"Damnit... he's drifting again. I warned you about this. Too much."

_A voice. Two of them._

"Hmph. He's weak. That's all it is. He just needs to get used to it."

_No. Three._

"All this time you're wasting on trying to figure out where he is... when you could just as easily be letting him run with it, and working it out on his own. We don't have a lot of time, ladies. He needs to keep moving, no matter what."

"Oh, shut up, Shaun. He's got to rest. "

_Her inner thoughts are loud, agitated. She pauses, thinks it over. Ah, now to appeal to his selfish side._

"He's no good to us if he's dead, so we're not gonna push him. End of issue."

_No one seems to notice other than me, but I can hear him muttering under his breath as he skulks away, holding his own personal temper tantrum as he returns to his desk. Despite his heartless demeanor, I can still smile, give the man a break. At least he's dedicated._

"Jesus. His heart rate's slower than all hell. He's really out."

"Keep monitoring him. Can you see anything?"

_Lucy's nails tap nervously against the flesh of her elbows; I can hear the scrape of her skin cells beneath the soft, keratin shards of her fingertips at a molecular level._

"Nah. I think he's in some sort of temporary remission. He might be fighting it due to fatigue. I think we're gonna stop here."

_I can't see them... but I can hear them. Better than I could ever hear anything before... it's almost as if all of my senses have been tied together into one, great big cognizant ball of wires. Every individual interacts with them all as a whole. _

"Okay, I've got a pulse on the rise. He's coming back. Keep it steady."

_I can hear, no - feel Lucy as she steps up behind me, calibrating the machines. I can see Shaun's distaste for it all, and taste Rebecca's excitement as her eyes bounce back and forth across the monitor in front of her, eagerly eying the code as it spews past her a mile a minute. I can't say that I blame her. They're just as anxious to know about what's in my DNA as I am. Their excitement makes me excited. I want to continue. I want to. But..._

"Desmond, are you okay? Hey..."

_When I was connected, I could experience everything. Now, as the head brace retracts and the withdrawing slip of the needles tingles my brain like ice, I can barely feel Lucy's hand upon my shoulder. Separated from the Animus, my body feels so... numb. __More and more, this thing is becoming my addiction, my threat, my sole release. I feel through dead men who are ages old more so than I can through my own, living self. And this truth frightens me. __I open my eyes and sit up._

"Yeah... I'm fine."

_Her presence is coming in faster now. I recognize the makeshift lab around her image, and understand that I'm returning to Earth, from a faraway satellite._

"We had to stop; you've been in there for quite a while. One of the longest sessions I've seen you endure yet. I know we said we don't have much time, but we do have to be careful. We don't wanna fry your head."

_They're letting me do it. As taxing as it is, they've little objection to my desire to comply and overexpose myself to these memories, other than a distant, ambivalent interest for my well-being. Perhaps the sacrifice of one is worth the greater cause._

"I'll just... a short nap. I just gotta recharge. Wake me up in about an hour or so."

_Lucy nods, but there's that split-second hesitation in her eyes. She's tense, fidgety. Clearly, she's thinking the same thing I am. They're close. We are running out of time._

"Okay. We'll uh, we'll wake you when we need you."

_She turns around and walks away on heavy heels. It's one of the rare times she denies me eye contact. The urgency in her voice is blatant and filled with disappointment, but her earnest attempt at politeness is laudable. _

_I make my way upon weary legs towards the rather comfortable looking bed in the back corner. It's a welcome sight, even if only influenced by my being unbelievably tired, and I muse about how ironic it is that I'm so eager to lie down after already having been lying on my back for hours (or has it been days?). In far contast to the Animus's seemingly recreational application and spirit, none of it has yielded me any sleep or comfort. Now, the idea of true rest without it sounds almost fruitful - if not a bit terrifying._

_Sleep._

_As much as I look forward to it, still something about it fails to satisfy. My mind... it won't leave me alone. It won't stop moving, thinking, willing. Some part of me still clings to outer consciousness, to all of these displaced memories, like condensation upon a window. I haven't found all of the answers yet. We can't stop now! But... I must. Everything is already starting to blur together. What is real? What is now? _

_I need to sleep, even if only for a little while. I need to clear my head. To see absolutely nothing but black. I can hear a familiar voice fading in and out, like an ancient recording projected from some distant time. I understand the words. The harsh, unrefined accent._

**Nothing is true. Everything is permitted.**

_Exhaustion finally takes its hold. I fall onto the bed. I drift - not by free will, but solely by the desperate dictations of my dwindling body. Even in sleep, I am in overtime. Behind closed lids, I still see the world; a world before I ever even knew it. _

_Everywhere I look, I see death in all its forms, delivered through the backs of my enemies' throats by the silent blade tucked beneath my wrist. _

___Please... let me dream something... blissful. _

___I drift a little further._

___Something that, this time, does not take a life, but... gives..._


	2. Chapter 2

_Something... cold and sharp... strikes my forehead. Very tiny, like a pin. I open my eyes to a thick blanket of endless gray above._

Rain?

_My suspicions are confirmed as another icy shard of falling water hits the side of my cheek, slides down the length of my neck, accompanied by more as the shower moves in, static charge increases. I examine the drab, overcast storm front clinging dismally overhead and yet, despite the oppressively humid weather I can very faintly detect upon the wind the traces of torched structures and burning wood._

Acre.

_Deeper olfactory exploration further reveals the brackish scent of saline water. _

Near the Harbor.

_I glance down – my vision focuses upon the cauterized stump of a missing ring finger and I immediately recognize the strong, weathered hands of my ancestor, Altaïr Ibn La-Ahad, clasped together before his chest. I look to the left, then to the right – he is surrounded, apparently taking refuge amongst a small traveling group of scholars. Seeing this, I realize right away that my ancestor is either trying to conceal himself from someone, or trailing a target. _

Shit. I somehow jumped right into the middle of this and I don't even know what the hell is going on. This isn't good... I hate it when I'm not prepared.

_... Something else dawns on me._

Wait a minute... Aren't I asleep? I can't be in the Animus... what, am I dreaming this shit now, too?

_I suddenly witness the entire world around me flicker in and out like an interrupted transmission, losing sync with my mind while my personal deliberations only serve to distract me from my dream. I return to focus, swim my way back up through the blackness and again find myself staring out through the darkened eyes of Altaïr. I am a bit surprised at the complexity and clarity I experience through all of my senses, despite the apparent lack of assistance from the Animus. Altaïr shakes his head, for a brief moment he seems disoriented. _

I've never seen him respond to me directly like that.

_I silence my scattered, frayed thoughts. Altaïr again lowers his head. I close my eyes as he does the same, and allow myself to free float upon the ethereal waves of the time continuum, to release myself... to open myself up and become my ancestor completely. We meditate upon each others' presence, merging our thoughts into a single pool, until..._

_

* * *

_  
The hickory scent of smoldering wood again bites the back of his throat. It's strikingly painful in contrast to the cold, precipitous air. The rain has slowed pace to a barely noticeable drizzle.

_Wait!_

Altaïr's head darts up. He sees his target shoot past his vision, cloaked in dark emerald green and charging at full speed through a nearby marketplace; a tall, fluid figure, perched upon slender legs tucked into knee high, brown leather boots, face shrouded in the sheltering darkness of a hood. However, this disguise does nothing to deter Altaïr; he knows who this is, beyond any doubt. His pupils dilate instantly, and he breaks rank from the scholars to pursue.

The chilly, pluvial fog slices like invisible, wet ribbons around him as he picks up speed, taking great strides to close the gap between his fast moving target and himself. His eyes remain locked on the concealed figure as it grows larger and closer with each passing second, and encouraged to see he is more swift and he clenches his fists tighter, pushes his muscles harder. Though they both wade through an ocean of bodies drifting to and fro, neither one knows of anyone's existence but the other's.

Altaïr smiles. He's almost within arm's reach. The victorious grin spreads ever wider across his taut, scarred lips and he lashes out, grabbing hold of the flapping trails of his target's cloak. Its tattered fringe shears off in his hand at the force. He can hear the taunting chuckle as his target bends like a reed to elude his grasp, and takes the opportunity to break away while Altaïr loses his balance and stumbles.

_Damn this!_

He catches sight of the figure again just in time to see it round the corner of a nearby building, disappearing beyond. Through gritted teeth Altaïr rises to his feet and again gives chase, scolding himself for having afforded his target the breathing room. But he is determined. He will not lose this one. He charges forth, follows around the bend.

_Gone._

He slides to an abrupt stop, glances around irritably in all directions as he comes to realize that his target has escaped - for the moment. Altaïr's eyes at first scan the crowd all around, but recalling his opponent's resourcefulness he sets his sights higher, scaling the sides of the tallest buildings nearby. Fists tight and anxious by his sides he strides forward, cutting his eagle vision through the surrounding mist, and after several moments of scrutinizing observation he suddenly catches sight of a darkened shadow, tiny against the large, stone wall backdrop, deftly scaling up the side of one of the watchtowers.

_Aha. there you are._

A smirk cracks along the side of his face, and he wastes no time in approaching the watchtower. He is careful to slip around the opposite side away from the public gathering, in order to avoid their curious stares, and taking refuge against an obscured position at the tower's base he very quickly begins to make his way up the side of it, scaling the rock surface with the agility and dexterity of a salamander. Neither fingers nor feet slip even once, and his momentum remains unbroken as he climbs. Expelling quiet breaths between each leap he executes his eyes remain focused above him, locked upon the darkened silhouette of his target several stories above him and ascending at just as quick a pace as he.

Altaïr finally reaches the ledge of a wall precipice adjoining the watchtower half way up. As he lifts himself up over the ledge and gains his footing he again catches sight of his target, heading swiftly down the walkway towards a large wooden door in the side of the tower. Sensing their intention Altaïr again tenses his muscles and gives chase, intent on stopping their escape. However, his opponent again proves just seconds too quick, flinging the door open and disappearing beyond, quickly shutting it with a taunting laugh before Altaïr can approach.

He slides to a halt, attempts to open it.

_Locked._

He sighs with a vacant sense of frustration, agains scales the side of the watchtower with his eyes.

_Clearly, there's only one direction they're both headed._

He quickly sets to climbing the side of the tower, this time continuing his constant, steady ascension and never stopping or even slowing until he reaches the top. In his instinctual habit he takes great care to scout the open area just over the wall's edge on the tower's roof, and he grins devilishly.

He sees his target - alone, backside to him, peering quietly over the opposite ledge and apparently unaware of his proximity. With the silence and stealth of a viper Altaïr wraps his hands over the rock wall and hoists himself up, plants his feet upon the wooden planks and closes in.

His target turns around just in time to see him merely feet away, dark and foreboding like a wolf on the prowl. However, this one is not stirred by his presence; at least, not by fear of assassination. The figure parts its stance and holds its ground, never moving even as Altaïr is nearly upon them, and his eyes remain just as solid upon his destination. He is now just inches away, and he lifts a hand. His target still does not move, refusing to back down even as his fingers grasp the lip of its hood, to pull it back and reveal his prey's true identity.

Of course, he doesn't need any sort of confirmation. He already knows with tremendous intimacy every sleek, supple curve of Maria's face, the gently angled lines of her body concealed beneath her ambiguous disguise.

Their aggressive fronts fade, and they both pause to break small, gentle smiles to each other. In a very rare instance seen by few, the terse lines of Altaïr's face finally slacken with a sense of scarce relief, and for a moment, his eyes seem not as dark. Without a word from either one of them he grips her head in his hands, stares into her glossy spheres and leans in to plant his lips against hers.

Caught slightly off guard by his eagerness she wraps her hands around his wrists and gives a show of surprised resistance, but he is relentless. He bears his passion strongly upon her, and the longer they maintain contact the further her defenses fall, and she caves in. The temperature of her body skyrockets, and she slowly falls limp in his grasp. Pleased by her willful, loving submission he further exacts himself upon her, consuming her between his arms.

The dying rays of sunlight peek over the stone ledge as they collapse together upon a stack of hay nearby, the titian light dappling their bodies as they draw imminently closer to one another. With the eagles soaring high above serving as the only witnesses to their encounter, Altaïr and Maria now close the remaining gap between them until they become one, sharing a brief interlude of heated, physical unification.

_Whoa. Alright, wasn't expecting that._

* * *

_I shut my eyes._

_When I open them again, Maria is lying upon her back, basking naked in the final rays of twilight, her thighs slightly parted and still moist, a small smile spread across her lips. Altaïr is already gone._

Wait... how come... I should be following him, right?

_I suddenly realize..._

Was that... The next connection?

-----


End file.
